


Monster

by ZenyZootSuit



Category: Kingdom Netflix, 킹덤 | Kingdom (TV 2019)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Marriage, Dark, Domestic Violence, Forced Marriage, Gen, Honor Killings, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Kingdom Weekly, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenyZootSuit/pseuds/ZenyZootSuit
Summary: His father called the King a monster and in his new form, he truly was monstrous. As far as Beom-il was concerned, it took one to know one.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaand this takes the cake now for the most violent, dark thing I’ve ever written. Be warned. The theme was monster, and I made Cho Hak-ju one. Mind the tags.
> 
> Written for Kingdom Weekly's prompt: monster

*******

_Beom-il watched as the old (dead) King snapped and snarled at them, chains tight around his neck._

_A monster, his father said._

_The commander took in the reigning monarch: all leathery skin, bloodshot eyes, inhuman roars, and grasping hands. He was, indeed, truly monstrous._

*******

Beom-il splashed water onto his face, clutching a damp cloth tightly in his hand as he steeled himself.

_Stop stalling. Man up and get it over with._

Gritting his teeth, he tentatively reached around his back to dab at the fresh lash marks as best he could, biting off hisses at the awful stinging. A bit too hard of a brush over one, and the scabbing broke loose, blood dripping down his sides.

He knew well enough he should get proper medical attention to prevent infection, but his pride held him back, as it always did. He’d be fine, like he always was.

(So what if he did not want the court physician to see the myriad of scars criss-crossing his back? So what if he already knew there was nothing they could do for the bruising or the cracked rib beyond a foul-smelling poultice that served no real purpose other than to look like they were doing something?)

He sighed, giving up as he exhausted his range of motion. On the brass tray in front of him, his reflection stared back at him, perfectly unmarred.

Rarely did Cho Hak-ju ever mark up his face.

 _Why are you doing this to me?_ he had asked once as a young boy. _Why do you hate me so much?_

 _I am making you into a man_ , his father had replied, a switch bloody in his hand. _Pain is weakness leaving the body. All of yours will leave you as a youth, so when you grow up, you will be stronger than all around you. A proud heir to the Haewon Cho clan._

The beatings (and, those times he had failed to turn that pain into rage, the tears he had cried alone after) had never made him feel very strong. Instead, they only made him feel unsteady and fundamentally _weak._

 _Prove it_ , a teenage Beom-il had challenged him once. _If that’s what you’re doing, then show it to the world. Blacken my eye. Split my lip. Show the court how strong I am_.

Cho Hak-ju had done no such thing, had instead blackened his abdomen for even daring to speak to him in such a manner.

_He had never known breathing could be so agonizing._

Beom-il’s hands gripped the edge of the table hard enough to make the wood creak, suddenly _furious_.

His father called the old King a monster. As far as Beom-il was concerned, it took one to know one.

The commander himself was hardly Cho Hak-ju’s only victim. (It was almost as if the bastard enjoyed victimizing everyone close to him. And why would he not? Clearly, he loved the power of it.)

Beom-il himself had been powerless to stop the marriage of his sister. He had reasoned, argued, appealed, and _begged his father on his knees_ (a mistake) to choose another member of the family to marry the ancient King. Anyone other than his fifteen year old sister. Numerous other women had volunteered, some eager for the power, others simply wanting to save the child from a fate many of them believed to be worse than death. All of them were rejected.

Beom-il would never forget being summoned to the new Queen’s quarters the morning after her wedding by a slightly harried court lady, pleading with him to come quickly. Once in the Queen’s quarters, he was surprised when the doors shut behind him, no one else entering with him.

That was before he found himself with an armful of sobbing sister.

“They told me it was going to hurt,” she wailed into the front of his robes, burying her face in his chest. “ _Onni_ , it _hurts_.”

Beom-il clutched the girl tightly to him, letting her cry and holding her as long as she wanted him to, shedding a few tears of his own.

It was perhaps the first time he had well and truly _hated_ his father. It would not be the last.

Not six months later, he was in much the same position except his arms were full of sobbing aunt. He sighed heavily, comforting the woman until she gathered herself well enough to tell him what had happened.

“Beom-il ah!” she cried, clutching desperately at the front of his robes. “You have to stop him!”

“Stop who?” he asked as patiently and calmly as he could.

“Your father!” she wailed. “He’s going to kill my daughter!”

The girl had apparently been caught fraternizing with a boy from a lower social class and now intended to marry him. Beom-il agreed that his father would in fact consider that justification for outright murder.

“I will try,” he told his aunt. The girl was his cousin, after all.

He never even got the chance. The girl was already dead by the time he got back to his father. Poisoned that very morning.

“No one shall bring shame on our family,” the councilor’s deep baritone permeated the room, devoid of remorse or emotion of any kind. “I did what needed to be done to restore our honor.”

Beom-il trembled.

_You know nothing of honor._

The final straw came a year later, visiting his cousin in Dongnae.

Beom-pal had never been…the sharpest axe in the shed, so to speak. He was generally soft spoken, voice often portraying a mild stutter, and vastly preferred literally anything else to the arts of war and politics. All in all, he was the exact opposite of what Beom-il’s father felt a Cho man should be.

And Cho Hak-ju had had just about enough of it.

“The boy would be more useful as a eunuch than a man!” the counselor roared, his sister cowering in front of him. “If I have my way, he will never reproduce!”

“Please,” she begged him, pleading for her son. “Please!”

He paid her no mind.

What truly struck Beom-il then was that his father actually meant to do it. He actually meant to make Beom-il’s cousin into a eunuch at the age of thirty. Beom-il arlready considered it to be a barbaric procedure (if indeed it could be afforded such proper medical terminology) but to be performed on a _grown man?_ The chances of him surviving it were small.

“You will kill him,” Beom-il said darkly late that night, standing in front of his father.

The man turned to him, ice cold eyes seeming nearly inhuman. “He is an embarrassment to our family.”

Beom-il stared right back at him. As the sole competent male heir, so long as he could bear a beating, he did not have (as) much to fear. “How long do you think you will be able to get away with murdering our family members?”

“I do not intend to murder him,” he father said, voice perfectly even.

“He will die from it and you know it,” Beom-il refuted. “So unless you _intend_ to turn the entirety of the Dongnae Cho clan against us, then you will find another solution.”

The crack of Cho Hak-ju’s hand across his face echoed throughout the room. Beom-il felt his lip slice open on his teeth as the hand made contact, skin on his cheek splitting from the force.

Beom-il drew in one slow deep breath through his nose.

“I hear the magistrate of Dongnae will be retiring soon,” he offered, voice perfectly monotone. “Dongnae is not a particularly large city. It will be the perfect opportunity for him to learn responsibility while also preventing him from meddling in anything important.”

It took a bit more convincing, but in the end _—somehow—_ his father agreed.

Beom-il walked out, blood drying and itchy on his cheek and a coppery taste in his mouth. His entire body shook.

Beom-pal stood up immediately from where he had been loitering by the archway when he saw him. “S-so?” he stuttered, arms folded tightly across his chest. “What did he say?”

Beom-il meant to say the words, truly he did, but they were stuck on his tongue. A potent mix of rage, pain, and _fear_ boiled hot in his chest and before he could stop it, boiled over. He cracked a fist across Beom-pal’s face before he even knew what he was doing.

“ _You are weak!_ ” he nearly howled.“Weak!”

Beom-pal made to get up, but Beom-il struck him down with another hit.

“You have had… _everything_ …handed to you!” He punctuated his sentence with vicious kicks to Beom-pal’s abdomen. “You need to _stand up_ and _make something of yourself!”_

Beom-pal did not respond. He simply curled in on himself, knees to his chest, arms around his head, and waited it out. His lack of reaction did nothing but enrage Beom-il even more.

 _“You piece of shit!_ ” he shouted, kicking and punching at the man on the ground, screaming obscenities, until finally he collapsed to the ground and _sobbed_.

Slowly, Beom-pal uncurled. “Beom-il?” he whispered tentstively. “Beom-il ah?”

Beom-il simply shook his head, sobbing uncontrollably, a lifetime of rage and pain suddenly spilling out all at once.

Beom-pal cautiously crawled forward. “A-are you okay?”

Beom-il shook his head again, burying his face in his hands in an attempt to silence himself. It was unsuccessful.

He was wrapped up in Beom-pal’s arms before he even realized his cousin had moved.

“What’s he done to you?” his cousin asked, patting his back gently.

The commander, much to his chagrin, found himself melting into the embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around his cousin as he bit out, “ _You have no idea!_ ”

Beom-pal’s hand was cradling his head, fingers stroking calmingly over his hair along the edges of his sangtu.

Nearly hyperventilating, Beom-il only managed to get out, “He’s a monster, Beom-pal, _a monster!_ ”

His cousin only sighed heavily and held him until Beom-il had thoroughly cried himself out. Even then, it was a while before Beom-il pulled himself together enough to draw back.

When he finally did, he scrubbed the tears from his cheeks as he said with a hiss, “If you breathe… _a word_ of this to anyone—“

“I won’t,” Beom-pal said tiredly, holding his ribs as he shifted. “I’m not like you, Beom-il, or your father. I don’t take any pleasure in seeing others suffer.”

Beom-il nearly struck him again for saying such a thing, wanted to scream _I am nothing like him_ , but that would have only been proving his point. His words would stay with Beom-il for a long time.

 _So indeed,_ Beom-il thought, knowing full well what the Crown Prince was referring to when he said there was a monster in the King’s palace. _I’m sure you did see one._

_I saw a monster, too. I’ve been seeing one._

“Beom-il ah,” his father said, staring at him from around the slightly shaking prince. “Escort his Royal Highness back to his palace.”

Beom-il seethed. _Do not use that endearment with me. You have no right._

He taunted the prince as he walked away, as was expected of him, though what he really wanted to say was this:

_You did see a monster, as have I. There are many._

_You are the rightful King of Joseon now. If only you had it in you to slay these monsters._

_If only I did too._

**_El Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through, cheers :3 Thank you for reading!


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